We are, for the first time in almost seventeen years, dogless. Is that a word?
Meme, who joined our family just a year ago as a six-year old retiring from a successful career as a show dog and mom to many champions, had a sudden (to us) decline and had to be put down. I wonder, does it get easier when you've had more dogs? I took her to the vet when she became lethargic, and at the vet she started twitching with mini-seizures. A growth on the liver, and apparently the kidneys shutting down gave a poor prognosis. Tearfully, the decision was made. I wasn't alone at the vet; 13-year-old A was there and impressed me with her strength. She was crying so hard but stayed in the room, choosing to be there as the shot was given and Meme fell asleep for the last time.
We brought her home and D, wonderful support that he is (texts of "do you need help to take her to the vet?" "do you need me to come there?" had been flying, and a quick call to make the final decision had his voice helping me), came home from work early to dig a grave. We're getting to have something of a pet cemetery down there now.
It has hit A the hardest; Meme and she had a special connection. Meme liked us, but she loved A. And she was loved right back. She was a great dog, and a funny mix of maternal and tough. She would carry socks to a corner to make a sort of nest, but then she was the dog that killed a skunk before it had a chance to spray.
A few sad days have followed.
And why, yesterday, out of the blue (no anniversary, no birthday date to trigger the thought) did I suddenly hear, replaying in my mind, the phone call from my mom about J's accident? I could hear her voice saying it as clear as if it had been yesterday. Where did that come from? Why that? Why now? I have no idea.